Pure of Heart
by UZI4U
Summary: Sequel to Inner Demons. Even a man who is pure of heart, and says his prayers by night...
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: As usual, I don't own the Winchesters, but take full credit for Emily or any other characters.

AN: This takes up where Inner Demons leaves off. After being possessed, Emily is looks to Sam and Dean for answers. She joins them on the hunt for a werewolf…I know this summary sucks, just read and review, okay? J

Chapter 1: Carsick

The setting sun shot long fingers of light across the backwater, Illinois road and glinted off of the chrome detailing of a '67 Chevy Impala. The car sped down the highway like a spokes model for one of the Speed Network's classic car auctions, leaving a handful of spectators in its wake.

However, the vehicle's awe-inspiring qualities were lost for the moment on the nineteen-year-old in its backseat. Emily Russell pressed her forehead against the cool glass of the window and watched the endless row of party-colored hardwoods whiz past. _Bad idea_ she thought and squeezed her eyes shut with an involuntary moan.

"What's the matter, Princess? Carsick?" Dean's voice floated from the driver's seat.

Emily straightened and spied the eldest Winchester's chiseled features smirking at her in the rearview mirror. She hadn't thought it possible that someone she'd only known for a week could get under her skin the way Dean did, but he somehow managed. He was a cocky smartass, and unfortunately, so was she.

"No," she lied quickly and glanced back out the window. The truth was, she had never been able to ride in the backseat, even as a small child. The first time they'd stopped for gas she'd secretly bought three bottles of Pepto-Bismol and took swigs of the chalky, pink liquid when she thought the boys weren't looking. It didn't help that they slept in the car, even at night she could swear she felt it whipping through turns. She would give anything for a bed, even a cheap, lumpy hotel mattress.

Crap, she was staring at the trees again and her stomach flip-flopped in protest. Fighting the urge to gag, she turned to face the interior of the car, stretching her legs across the seat in front of her and leaning her left temple against the leather seat. She stared at the toes of her boots, a safe, unmoving, non-nauseating view, and smiled faintly. They were her favorite boots: supple black leather with decorative, brown suede scallops at the very pointed toes. She felt a pang of homesickness; her grandparents had given her the vintage-style cowboy boots to her for Christmas the year before. Her father loved to tease her about them, he always said that the pointed toes were only good for killing cockroaches in the corner.

Her father. She remembered the day she'd left home, the day she'd found out the truth about her father, and suddenly she didn't feel so homesick. She still wanted to know what had happened to her that day and the desperate thirst for knowledge had spurred her actions. She knew the Winchester brothers were the only ones who could help her find some answers.

"Now, where are we going again?" she asked, wanting to forget her personal problems for a moment.

Sam turned sideways in the seat in front of her so that he could see her. "We're going to Hartsburg. There have been a series of 'dog' attacks in the past couple of weeks, really nasty ones. But, they only occurred on the full moon. Once the new moon started to wane, the attacks stopped."

"So we're thinkin' werewolf," Dean finished casually.

"Werewolf?" Emily arched her eyebrows speculatively, not quite believing them.

Sam offered her a smile across the back of his seat, sympathizing with her disbelief. "I would doubt it too if I hadn't seen one for myself."

Emily shrugged, after all, just a few days ago her body had harbored a vengeful demon, bent on destroying her entire family. "How long has it been since you dealt with one?"

Dean chuckled bitterly. Let's see…I was eleven. We were in Cali, and Dad told me to watch Sammy, said he would kill it himself."

Emily didn't miss the sour look that crossed Sam's face at the use of his nickname.

"Anyway," Dean continued, ignoring his brother. "He only managed to flush it out and it came right for us. Lucky I had silver bullets in my .45, or the women of America would have been robbed of yours truly."

Emily leaned forward and smacked him lightly on the back of the head. "Hey!" he grabbed at his head, checking to see that his messy spikes were still to his liking.

"Thanks," Sam snorted. "I can't ever get away with that."

Emily laughed out loud for the first time in days, but instantly regretted it because the action tightened her stomach and threatened to expel her meager lunch. She closed her eyes and leaned back against the seat once more, taking slow, deep breaths.

"Hey," Sam said quietly ", We can swap if you want, I can ride in the back."

Emily opened one eye and smiled weakly. "You don't have to do that." She appreciated Sam's gesture, but didn't want to admit to being sick. Or rather, she didn't want Dean to know. He would never let her live it down.

"What's all this whispering shit?" Dean asked, slapping in Sam's general direction.

"We're planning a coup," Emily said.

"Whatever, just wait to tie me up and gag me after dinner." He turned so that she could see his profile and grinned wickedly. "I thought me might stop at the Waffle House up ahead."

Emily groaned.

-O-

Two hours later, Dean turned the key and pushed open the door to their motel room. They had indeed stopped for dinner at Waffle House and stuffed themselves with yet another greasy, heart-clogging meal. Well, he and Sam had. Emily had only managed to choke down half of her order of hash browns before excusing herself to the restroom. She hadn't said, but he knew she had barfed up what little she'd eaten that day and admired her attempt to look dignified as she rushed through the dining room with one hand to her mouth. He had decided to do her a favor and had eaten her grilled cheese before she returned. It was just as well that she hadn't finished her meal, Dean wasn't feeling so hot himself at the moment and seriously doubted the freshness of the cheese.

He flicked on the light and stepped into the room. It wasn't great, but pleasant. There were two double beds with pink spreads and a table in between with a phone and lamp. The carpet was standard cheap motel green, but looked freshly vacuumed, and the wallpaper was a floral print on a white background. A door to the right led to a bathroom and a large cabinet against the left wall housed a TV and VCR.

Emily entered behind him and set her blue duffel on the first bed. "Okay Sam," Dean called over his shoulder. "We'll flip a coin to see who gets to bunk with the Princess."

Emily straightened from where she'd been pulling things from her bag and turned to Dean, hands on hips. "First off, do NOT call me princess," she shuddered as she said the offensive word. "And second, _you_ were the one who insisted on getting one room, so _I _get this bed to myself, you perv."

Sam tried to hide his smile from his brother as he entered and began unpacking his own bag. Said brother was just standing there, looking shocked at Emily's words. Dean had always been the lady's man of them two of them, so Sam was thoroughly enjoying the abuse he was receiving from their passenger.

Finally Dean scowled and flung his bag at the foot of the bed he and Sam would share. He and his brother had slept in the same bed many a time when they were younger, so that wasn't really the issue. He couldn't believe a girl was rejecting him. "Fine," he muttered, grabbing one corner of the bedspread and ripping it off, sending Sam's stuff flying. "But you better keep your skinny ass on your own side."

"Love you too, man," Sam grumbled as he picked up his bag and the clothes that had ended up on the floor.

Emily chuckled under her breath and laid her 44-magnum lever action on the bed and began searching for her pajamas. Not for the first time, she wondered how she had managed to end up in a hotel hundreds of miles from home with two near strangers. Not to mention they were in Hartsburg to investigate a werewolf! Sam had assured them that they had two nights until the full moon in which to find the cursed individual and put a stop to the attacks. Thus, they were allowed some time to 'relax' and sleep in real beds.

She reached into her bag and pulled out her tank top but kept digging, becoming puzzled. She knew she had brought her pjs… "Oh crap."

"What's wrong?" Dean looked up to see Emily standing over her bag, a rather panicked look spreading across her face.

She looked up, panic turning to embarrassment. "I…um…I don't usually sleep in real pajama pants and I was in a hurry to pack. I kinda forgot them," she bit her lip, all traces of cockiness gone.

_Ha ha _Dean thought. He now had the upper hand. "We don't mind if you sleep in underwear, do we Sam?" His voice dripped with innocence, but his grin was down right evil.

Sam rolled his eyes and to his brother's horror, tossed Emily a blue and red plaid bundle he'd pulled from his bag. She unfolded the bundle to reveal a pair of boxers and frowned doubtfully. "Don't worry, they're clean," Sam reassured.

She gave them an experimental sniff just to sure and smiled with approval. "Thank you Sam." Then turning to Dean ", At least one of you is a gentleman."

Dean glared at Sam as Emily took her makeshift pajamas and locked herself in the bathroom. "Nice going, Professor Higgins."

"Wait," a disbelieving smile began to creep across Sam's lips. "You actually know who Henry Higgins is?"

Dean was suddenly doing a remarkable imitation of Emily's earlier sleepwear panic. "No, of course not."

-O-

When Emily emerged from the bathroom wearing her tank top and Sam's boxers, she found the Winchester brothers were already tucked into their bed. Sam was flipping lazily through the TV channels and Dean lay on his side, facing her, reading a beat-up leather bound book.

"You read?" she asked, turning down her own bed.

He looked up rather solemnly and closed the book. "It's our dad's journal. I was just looking for any…clues he might have left behind."

She knew they were searching for their father, but so far they hadn't offered up any details. "How long has he been gone?" she asked, and saw Sam's head whip around to listen to his brother's response.

"Too long," Dean muttered and clicked off the lamp.

-O-

Emily opened her eyes and instantly felt the coldness pierce the thin fabric of her nightgown. She looked down at her feet to them bare and wiggled her toes against the dirt floor. An invisible gust tugged at her hair and she raised her head to view the interior of an expansive and dark warehouse. Rubbing her arms, she took several tentative steps forward and was startled when a spotlight came shooting down from the ceiling.

As though taking the light for a cue, a shadowy figure stepped into the beam and Emily tensed, dreading what would happen next. "You know who I am," the figure spoke in that familiar voice that she just couldn't assign to a face. "And I know what you seek."

She was tired of this nightly game, of the cryptic messages contained in her dreams. "Then why don't you tell me," she fired back, feeling colder than ever.

"Gladly," the figure stepped aside to reveal a second, this one not shadowed, but clearly visible. It was her mother.

"Mom?" Mrs. Russell, who had been standing perfectly still, started at the sound of her daughter's voice and began backing away.

"No, stay away!" she shouted, putting up her hands to shield herself.

"Mom, wait!" Emily stepped forward, reaching towards her mother. Then suddenly, Emily's hands were sliding around her mother's throat, and they were squeezing. Emily gasped in horror, but she couldn't let go, couldn't stop strangling the woman who had raised her. "No! No!" she began to scream, but to no avail.

The shadowy figure laughed from somewhere in the darkness, a terrible sound, and Mrs. Russell fell limp in Emily's hands. "No!" she screamed again. "No! Mom, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! No!"

-O-

Dean wasn't sure who was screaming, but he knew that it had awakened him. In an instant he was upright in bed, the six-inch knife he'd tucked under his pillow in his hand. Sam mumbled something groggily beside him, but he wasn't listening. Quickly, he located the source of the screaming and lowered his knife.

Emily was thrashing in the other bed, yelling the words ", I'm sorry," at the top of her lungs. She was having a nightmare, or rather night terror, just as he'd seen Sam have them hundreds of times.

"Emily, wake up!" he called and jumped up off of his own bed. She continued to wave her arms frantically, her screams becoming louder. Sighing, he sat down on the edge of her bed and took hold of her shoulders. "Emily, its just a nightmare. You've gotta wake up," he shook her gently.

Suddenly her eyes snapped open and he could see them glittering with tears and anguish. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," she was almost begging for forgiveness. She broke down into sobs and he pulled her shaking form against his chest.

"Shhh, it's okay," he murmured, rubbing her back soothingly. Her let her cry, not caring that her tears soaked the front of his T-shirt, and rocked her gently. Her sobs died down into hiccups with the occasional sniff mixed in, and she eventually drifted off to sleep in his arms. "It's okay, I'm right here," he whispered into her hair, and leaned back against the headboard. _She fits right in_ he thought wryly. As if two with nightmares wasn't enough…


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Okay, last chapter was a bit on the crappy side, and I apologize. In fact, I probably should have started with this chapter. But, such is life. Thanks to all of my reviewers.

Chapter 2: The Bust

Just four miles down the road from the motel, someone else was having a nightmare. The only problem was, the person having the nightmare was awake.

Officer Larson eased the patrol car to a stop in front of 1522 Morris Court and shivered. The revolving red and blue lights atop the cruiser cast dancing, twisting shadows across the front of the dilapidated house and surrounding trees. Well, the word 'trees' might suggest that the yard was pleasantly landscaped, but there was no yard. Straight off the front porch was nothing but forest, a scraggly collection of hardwoods with the occasional evergreen thrown in for good measure.

"What's wrong, you skeerd?" Larson's partner chuckled from the passenger seat.

Larson didn't even pretend to be brave about the whole situation. He licked his lips nervously and peered through the windshield at the rusted out station wagon that occupied what was supposed to be the front lawn. "It's just, you know, this is the Mayfield place."

His younger partner raised his eyebrows as if to say "So what".

"Have you never been out here?" Larson asked.

"No."

Larson pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped away the sweat that had formed on his brow. "Old Lady Mayfield lives here with her only grandson."

"That would be our suspect, Curtis Mayfield," his partner had a grip on the door handle and was gathering himself to exit the cruiser.

"Wait!" Larson hissed. "We can't just barge in there, we need to wait on the Sheriff."

His partner barked a laugh and opened the door. "Well, I'm going in there to arrest the kid, you can stay out here. That is, if you're yellow."

Larson scowled, ashamed at himself for his behavior, but refusing to give in. "Harris, do you know why we're arresting him?"

"No."

"Because he's behind all of those murders, jackass! He sicced his dogs on all those poor people."

"Dogs?"

In response, one of the mentioned dogs let out a bone-chilling howl and was joined by several more.

"Oh Jeez!" Harris leapt back into the cruiser and slammed the door as five nondescript hunting dogs came charging around the junker station wagon. The two officers could hear the animals snuffling around the outside of the car, no doubt smearing the clean car with drool.

Larson had a rather satisfied smirk on his face. "I told you we should wait for back-up."

"Why?" Harris huffed, slightly embarrassed. "Because you're scared shit-less of dogs?"

"Among other things," Larson muttered as he picked up the radio to call for animal control.

-O-

The next morning, Sam was the first to wake. He blinked the sleep from his eyes, marveling at the fact that he'd actually been able to sleep, and rolled over to look across at the other bed.

Dean was out cold, leaning back against the headboard, right leg still hanging off of the mattress, and held a sleeping Emily loosely in his arms. Sam sighed sadly, reminded suddenly of Jessica. God how he missed her. He could remember holding her, waking up beside her on a lazy Sunday morning…

He wiped his eyes and shoved off the covers. Dean could sleep the day away, denying anything he felt for the girl he was cradling, but Sam had work to do.

Moving as quietly as possible, Sam managed a quick shower and change without waking his counterparts and slipped out of the motel room. The morning was cold for early November and he found himself subconsciously pulling his Carhartt jacket closed. Deciding that coffee was not only a good way to warm up, but also his best bet on prying info out of the locals, Sam crossed the street to Carrie's; a diner that looked suspiciously like the Waffle House they had stopped at the night before.

Sam pushed through the door of the small diner and was pleasantly surprised at how much the interior differed from Waffle House. Sure there was a long bar and the walls were lined with booths, but the stools and seats were upholstered with bright red vinyl and the tabletops were a shiny black and trimmed in chrome. He carefully crossed the black and white floor tiles, maneuvering in between the throng of patrons, and took a seat at the bar. Like Waffle House, the food preparation area was directly behind the bar and Sam could see half a dozen employees in fifties style uniforms bustling about. One rather plump woman with her hair pulled back in a bun and topped with a hairnet was waving her arms animatedly and calling instructions to the others.

"Jimmy! I need more plates, son. Teresa, they need more coffee at table three!"

_That must be Carrie_ Sam thought and found that he was correct when she hustled up to him and he caught a glimpse of her nametag.

"What can I getcha', baby cakes?" she asked in a hurry, slapping a napkin and menu on the bar in front of him.

Sam was hoping to ask Carrie about the so-called dog attacks. In such a small town, he knew that everyone would have not only heard about the incidents but formed a very particular opinion about them. "Actually, Ma'am…" he began.

"Look, I don't got all day honey," she put a hand on a very round hip and fixed him with a pointed stare.

"Oh, um, just gimme three coffees to go, please," he tried to hide his disappointment.

Carrie let out a huge production of a sigh and rolled her eyes skywards. "I just put on a new pot, it'll be about fifteen minutes."

"That's fine," Sam assured and was relieved when the diner Nazi bustled off, shouting orders to her staff. He glanced hopefully at the rack that no-doubt held newspapers on a regular basis and found it empty. He poked out his lower lip in the unconscious, bored expression he'd made since he was a child and swiveled the stool around to face the window that wrapped around the restaurant. He leaned back and propped his elbows on the counter behind him and soaked in the magic that was a small town.

The diner was busy: full of construction workers and dentists and lawyers and every other type of professional in Hartsburg. But something seemed a little odd to Sam. There was a buzz to the room, electricity that seemed to touch everyone. All of the patrons were talking animatedly with one another about something they found very exciting.

While it was true that Sam had acquired the Winchester talent for bullshitting his way into any conversation, he knew that yokels were sometimes touchy about strangers. He would have to select his targets carefully. Then he spotted two girls seated in the booth directly across from him chatting atninety miles a minute. They looked to be high school age, both were brunette, but the girl on the right had shocking streaks of blonde and fuscia mixed into her short do.

Sam ran a hand through his own hair, checking that his shaggy look was purposefully messy, not 'just woke up' messy, and levered up from the stool. He waited until he was standing right at the highlighted girl's shoulder before clearing his throat lightly. "Hey there, ladies. Mind if I join you?"

Both girls snapped their heads around to look at him and the startled expressions quickly melted into warm smiles. "Sure," Highlights scooted over and motioned for him to sit.

"Thanks, I'm Sam," he offered as he folded his lanky frame into the booth. He flashed an easy smile that Dean would have been proud of and held out his hand.

Each girl shook his hand in turn and identified themselves as Shannon, the one with the highlights, and Lisa. "So," Shannon began with a bat of her eyelashes. "Are you new around here?"

"Well, kinda. I'm a grad student from Penn State. A couple of my classmates and I are researching animal behavior," he rattled without a hitch, inwardly wincing at how easy he found it to lie.

"Oh, how interesting," Lisa gushed, clasping her hands beneath her chin. She had that look on her face, the one most teenage girls reserved for their boy band idol and Sam could feel the blush creeping up from his shirt collar.

"So what's there to research here in Hartsburg?" Shannon asked, just barely restraining her own goo-goo eyes for the newcomer. "I mean, this place is_ so _boring."

"Well," Sam tugged a little at his collar, wishing he had his brother's suave reflexes with women. "We're actually looking into these mysterious dog attacks. They were all over the news and we were thinking wolves, maybe…"

"Oh! Oh!" Lisa began hopping up and down in her seat and waving her hands. "It was Curt! Curt Mayfield," she exclaimed.

Shannon rolled her eyes at her friend's outburst. "What she means is that Curt Mayfield set his hunting dogs loose on all of those poor people."

"How do you know," Sam asked doubtfully. He felt almost positive that there was no way regular dogs killed the residents of Hartsburg.

Shannon smiled smugly. "My Daddy is the sheriff. They busted Curt last night, took him to jail and everything."

"Yeah," Lisa chimed in. "I hear his granny went nuts when the cops put him in handcuffs."

"What happened to his dogs?" Sam asked.

"Animal control picked 'em up. They're gonna kill all of them," Shannon wrinkled her nose distastefully. "I don't know why they didn't do it years ago."

Sam rubbed a hand across his chin, giving himself a moment to collect his thoughts. He needed to find this poor Curt kid, see if he knew anything about the truth.

"Kid! Your joe's ready!" Carrie's shrill voice echoed across the small restaurant and Sam was glad for the opportunity to excuse himself.

"Well, it was nice meeting you," he told Shannon and Lisa, only partially meaning it.

They grinned at him, Lisa giving him that look of complete adoration again and he hurried to collect his coffee.

"Bye, Sam," Shannon called with a little wave.

Sam hoped he didn't look too eager to escape as he balanced the Styrofoam cups and pushed back through the door. He decided that this was the last time he let Dean sleep late.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The numb, tingling sensation in Dean's left leg finally penetrated his sleeping mind and caused him to wake with a grunt. He tried to shift positions but found that he was pinned to the bed in his awkward seated position. His eyes snapped open and were met with the sight of Emily who still lay against his muscled chest. Her head rested in the crook between his neck and shoulder and she had a firm hold on his gray T-shirt.

He was slightly amazed at how automatic his reaction had been the night before, how he'd rushed to comfort the girl. _Man, I'm getting too soft in my old age_ he thought to himself, shaking his head marginally.

He glanced down again. She looked so peaceful, so out of place in his hellish world of monster hunting and he regretted allowing her to come. He should have insisted that she stay in Georgia with her family. But he was reminded grimly of the fact that he wasn't too good at convincing people to stay with their loved ones, Sammy was proof of that. Hell, so was Dad.

Emily stirred against him, pulling him from his thoughts. She wasn't actually awake; it had just been one of those unconscious shifts in her sleep. Dean hated to wake her, but knew that his leg couldn't re-join the world of the living until Emily did.

"Emily, wake up sweetheart," he said quietly and patted her head softly.

No response.

"Ems, come on, wake up," he brought a hand around to shake her shoulder gently.

"Hmmm…what?" she croaked, releasing her death grip on his shirt to wipe at her eyes.

"Can't sleep the day away, sunshine," he said lightly and propped her upright in front of him.

As his hands pulled away from her arms, the fog of sleep seemed to lift and Emily's head snapped up. She clapped a hand to her cheek and her eyes doubled in size as she looked at Dean. "Oh my god," she breathed. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean…you didn't have to…did you?…Did we?…"

She was babbling, face becoming paler with every incoherent word and Dean couldn't help but grin cockily. "Don't worry sweetheart, you were wonderful."

She gasped and both hands moved to cover her mouth. Her eyes were sparking with a hundred questions/accusations as she stumbled backward from the bed.

He could have sat there all day, thinking about how cute she looked when she was upset and how she still managed to look feminine in Sam's ridiculous boxers, but that would have been cruel. "Chill out," he held up his hands and just barely managed to hide his grin. "Nothing happened, you're still a virgin, honey." He realized too late that that had been the exact wrong thing to say.

"What?" she demanded, hands slamming down to her sides and curling into fists. She stalked towards him; this time quaking with anger instead nerves. "Where. Did. You. Hear. That?" she bit off each word in staccato rhythm and Dean actually squirmed against the headboard.

"Look…I didn't mean," he felt helpless as he looked up at her face and her rampaging eyes. "It was just…that Catherine girl, your roommate. She…may…have mentioned something about you…being…"

"Arrrgh!" she growled in frustration and spun away from him. "I can't believe her!" she muttered and stormed across the small room.

"Emily, I didn't mean," he tried, but she silenced him with a wave of her hand.

"Forget it." She was gathering fresh clothes from her bag and a travel size bottle of shampoo.

Dean sighed inwardly and hopped up from the bed, wishing like hell women weren't so temperamental. "I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean to upset you."

She didn't respond, but continued to dig through her beg with vehemence, lips pressed in a thin line.

"Do you want to talk about what happened last night?"

She let out her breath in a whoosh that sent her long hair flapping. Pulling the brown locks over one shoulder, she looked up at Dean, all traces of anger gone. "Nothing happened, alright?" it wasn't really a request, but more like a plea for him to drop the subject.

Dean folded his arms stubbornly. "It was a nightmare, Sam's had a million of 'em. You can't just keep 'em inside, it'll kill you, just like it's killing him."

She cocked her head and narrowed her eyes. "What about you, tough guy? Is it okay for you to hold everything in, or are you just the resident Dr. Phil?" She rose and made her way to the bathroom, closing the door on the flabbergasted Dean.

-O-

By the time Sam returned to the motel room, Dean was dressed and packing their meager belongings.

"Gee, thanks for the help," Sam commented as he struggled to latch the door with his arms laden with coffee.

"You're welcome," Dean plucked one of the Styrofoam cups from his brother's grasp and took an appreciative sip.

Sam rolled his eyes and set the other two cups on the room's one, tiny table. "Where's Emily?" he asked, noticing her absence.

"Bathroom," Dean grunted with a nod of his head towards the closed door.

Now that Sam took the time to listen, he could hear the sounds of the hairdryer. He glanced at Dean, who's face resembled that of a man about to vomit. "What's up with you, man?"

Dean grimaced and took another sip of his coffee, breathing in the steam from the hot liquid as if it was a cure for all of his ails. "Women," he finally snorted distastefully.

Sam chuckled, but quickly covered his mouth when he noticed Dean's jaw twitch. "She really gets to you, huh?"

Dean muttered something inaudible under his breath and continued to nurse his coffee, making it even harder for Sam to control his laughter. "I wish you two would quit this little bitch banter you've got going on and just admit that you like each other," he barely finished before a pillow collided with the side of his head.

"Shut it," Dean barked. "Or I'll shut it for you."

"I'm shaking," Sam muttered as he settled the pillow back on the bed.

Both boys heard the hairdryer click off and Emily emerged from the bathroom soon after. She had taken time to apply light touches of make-up and her hair fell in silky sheets in front of her shoulders. "So," she tried to sound chipper as she straightened the hemline of her turtleneck. "What's first on the list for today?"

"Well," Sam leaned his tall frame up against the wall so he could address both Dean and Emily. "I ran into some girls at the diner who said that a kid they go to school with was arrested last night for the attacks. Curtis Mayfield apparently has a pack of hunting dogs that he allegedly sicced on the victims."

"What about your werewolf theory?" Emily asked.

"I still think there is one. I think this poor kid's been falsely accused."

"Did you talk to anyone else?" Dean asked, checking the full clip of his .45.

"Nah, just the diner's owner and she wasn't too helpful," Sam wrinkled his nose at the memory of Carrie.

"Maybe you didn't ask the right questions," Dean pressed.

"Dean, she called me 'baby cakes'."

For the first time that morning Dean and Emily agreed upon something and they both had a good snicker at Sam's expense.

The younger Winchester scowled at them both. "Come on, I got Mayfield's address at the phone booth. Let's go check it out."


End file.
